


a bad desire

by SugarAndBone



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eating Disorders, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Older Man/Younger Woman, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:43:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarAndBone/pseuds/SugarAndBone
Summary: Maggie is Jax's college-aged sister. She's back home in Charming after having to leave USC due to her eating disorder. She loves SAMCRO, especially her BFF Juice and her protector Tig, but Clay is a violent piece of work who makes being at home a nightmare. Good thing Chibs is there to help a lass out.Trigger warnings: Eating disorders, mentions of child abuse. **Also please note Maggie is only in her early 20s and I reckon Chibs is 40-50 years old so if that creeps you out, don't read.**





	1. Chapter 1

“Finish.” 

Clay’s voice echoed off the heavy wood-paneled walls of the chapel. The room was empty, but still half-cloudy with the smoke of countless cigarettes. 

Maggie looked down at the strawberry yogurt in front of her. Yogurt normally was a safe food, but this wasn’t the low-sugar kind she liked, and her mom had put granola and fruit in it. 

Her face flushed as she felt her father’s eyes narrow. Even with her head bent, she could feel his disappointment. 

Maggie was good at being a disappointment, especially to Clay. 

“Come on, don’t drag this shit out,” he said in exasperation. “The guys are all gonna be here soon.” 

“I can finish on my own,” she said quickly.

“The hell you can,” he snapped, lighting a cigarette as he glowered at her. 

She scooped a small bite on her spoon, and then there was a knock on the door behind her. She twisted to see Chibs walk in, his mouth half-parted in irritation. 

“Sherriff outside,” he said shortly to Clay. “Needs to see ya.” 

“God fucking DAMN it,” hissed Clay, pounding a fist on the table. “Everyday with this fucking shit! That fucking coon—

Maggie hissed in disgust, interrupting her father’s racist tirade. Behind her, Chibs hid a small smile. 

“G’wan,” he said to Clay, intervening before a fight could break out in earnest between the two. 

“She ain’t finished yet,” he said, motioning to Maggie in irritation. “Gemma’s at the dentist so I gotta babysit a grown ass woman.” 

Maggie flushed and her chin sank lower. Her hand shook around the spoon which suddenly felt impossibly heavy. 

Chibs clucked his tongue. “I got her,” he said.

Clay paused for a moment before rising from his chair. He walked towards the door, stopping behind Maggie’s chair to lay a heavy hand on her shoulder. 

“Don’t fucking make him wait all day,” said Clay. “He’s got better things to do.” 

The door slammed unexpectedly behind him, making Maggie jump a little in her chair. Chibs eased into the chair to her right, softly pushing her hair out of forehead and tucking it behind her ear. 

She looked up at him with a shy, uneasy smile.

“Sorry,” she said, half above a whisper. 

“Don’t be, lass,” he said, letting his hand fall from her hair as he eased backwards in his chair, locking his fingers behind his head. “Ain’t nothing I’d rather be doing.”

She scoffed. “I doubt that.”

He grinned devilishly at her. “Well, maybe there are a COUPLA o’ter activities that would appeal more…” 

She smiled back at him, flushing a little. He was handsome as hell, even though he was old enough to be her father. Hell, he was one of her father’s best friends. Not to mention married and with a daughter just a little younger than herself. But he was single, for all intents and purposes, and had an ever-roving door of sweetbutts that seemed to follow him around. It made Maggie green with envy, though she thought she hid her attraction to him well. In fact, out of all the Samcro members, she kept him at an arm’s length, preferring instead to spend her time with Tig or Juice or her brother, when he would suffer her presence, which wasn’t very often lately. 

Her face clouded a little as she thought of how Jax was changing but Chibs misread her thoughts. 

“Somethin’ wrong wi’ it?” 

She looked down at the yogurt, slowly understanding the question. “Not…wrong…but not…right,” she said lamely, struggling to think of the words to explain her eating issues without sounding like a total basketcase. 

“Like Goldilocks,” he said. 

She giggled a little at that, his easy humor as usual making her forget her demons, if only for the moment. She felt his hands stroke her hair and she cut her eyes up to him quickly. 

“Except your hair ain’t golden, is it, sweet girl?” 

Maggie froze, her eyes widening at the affectionate phrase. Of course, Chibs was always affectionate, solicitous even, a gentleman especially compared to the other boys…but the intensity behind the words felt meaningful. Intimate. 

She shook her head finally. “No,” she said, realizing how dumb it must be to answer a rhetorical question. Of course her hair wasn’t golden. She blushed and looked down. 

But Chibs didn’t seem to notice. “No,” he breathed quietly, fingers running down her back through the length of her chestnut brown curls. “And thank t’e Lord for that.” 

She raised her brows a little. 

“You like blondes,” she said challengingly. 

He let out a surprised burst of laughter at her tone. She did sound incredibly peevish. Flushing again, she muttered, “I mean, don’t you?” 

His fingers tightened in her hair into a fist, directing her face towards to him lightly. 

“Aye, I fuck a lot of ‘em,” he said, his voice cool and emotionless. “T’at a problem?” 

“Fuck who you want,” she said casually, mimicking his cold tone. 

His eyes narrowed at that. “Would that I could,” he said, chewing his bottom lip a little and releasing her hair. 

He sank back into his chair. 

She stared at him in confusion. 

“It’s only a few more bites, lass,” he said finally, encouragingly. “And when you finish, maybe Clay will let me take you to the store. Get you the kind you like.” 

She felt her face get warm a little as she stared down at her clasped hands in her lap. She had only ridden with Chibs a couple of times, and only during club emergencies, never on a causally intimate errand like grocery shopping together. 

“Or Tig can take you,” said Chibs, as her silence seemed to grow in the room and cause him to become confused. Jealous, even, but that couldn’t be right, could it? Maggie looked up at him nervously. 

“N-no,” she bit out quickly. “You.”

A flash of something moved in his eyes. He nodded.

She turned back to her bowl, hands shaking as she picked up the spoon and took a succession of one, two, three bites. Still, a small bit remained. She looked over at Chibs doubtfully. 

“Good enough?” her expression asked, though she didn’t say a word. 

He gave her a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Can you do a little more for me, lass?” he said. 

Her stomach felt queasy and her hands fell back in her lap, dropping the spoon with defeat. She swore she could feel her belly expanding, out of her control, a testament to her failure and worthlessness and—

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a warm callused hand wrap around hers, heavy against her thighs. 

“You’re a good girl, you know that, right?” 

His voice was husky and low against her ear. Her eyebrows shot up a little. 

“Why—why do you say that?” she asked, uncertainty on her face as she looked down at his dark hands twisted against her pale ones. She could smell his cologne or aftershave or…something…and it was making it hard to think straight. But she knew she wasn’t good. Not really. Not good enough. Never good enough. 

“Cause I wanted you to hear it,” he said simply. 

She met his dark eyes. For a moment neither spoke. 

Finally, she untwisted one of her hands from his, and picked up the spoon again. She took a few more tentative bites, keeping her other hand clenched around Chibs’ hand in her lap, aware of the warmth and weight of him against her thighs and pressing almost against her crotch. 

Tears filled her eyes. She hated this. She hated this. How was she back here again?

“You're doing beautifully, darlin',” said the low voice beside her.

She tore her eyes from the bowl and back to his. She looked at him helplessly, angrily. This wasn't fair. She couldn't do this. His expression shadowed as he gazed at her pained expression. 

Sighing a little, he pulled the spoon from her hand, and scraping the bowl quickly, he took the remaining spoonful and swallowed it easily. 

“All done,” he said, tossing it into the bowl with a clatter. 

She glanced at the door and then, on a wild impulse, ducked her head into his neck and left a soft kiss on his smooth, tanned skin, just below his left ear. He inhaled sharply. She breathed in for a beat before pulling away. 

“That cause I ate your yogurt?” he asked, a smile playing on his lips even as his eyes stayed hard. 

She bit down on her lip and shook her head intensely. 

“Why, lass?” he asked, and the smile was gone, his tone serious and almost angry. 

“Cause I wanted you to feel it,” she said, hearkening back to his simple words from earlier. 

He clucked his tongue, and a blush spread on her cheeks. “Feel too damn much as it is,” he said barely above his breath, rising suddenly and pulling his hands out of hers. 

She resisted the urge to hide her face in her fists, but she rose slowly, trying to delay meeting his eyes. What a little idiot she was. 

“C’mon. To the store, now, ay? Unless…you want Tig?,” he asked, his tone a little teasing. 

Her stomach lurched. He still wanted to take her. She felt her face brighten. She nodded. Then shook her head. Then nodded.

“Not Tig. You,” she said. 

“Not Tig. Me,” he repeated, smiling down at her as she tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. 

He nodded, his gaze darkening a little as he took in her face. 

“That's a good lass." 

She smiled.


	2. wake up call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so, i sort of envisioned this as a collection of imagines, but somehow ended up writing a second chapter which connects to the last one. i may keep writing the story or may switch over to one-shots again. i have other long fics im trying to finish so this was gonna be a way to give my brain a break but as usual can't resist the relationship building.

“Up!” She heard her dad’s voice echo through her room.

“Shit!” Maggie swore, pushing herself up on her elbows and clutching for her chest. With bleary eyes, she made out that her clock read 3:32 a.m. 

“Jesus, Clay,” she heard Tig drawl, a laugh in his throat. 

“Are you deaf!? Up, I said!” snapped Clay again, his voice getting closer as he slammed around on her nightstand. Her bedroom light clicked on. 

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and moaned. She didn’t even need to ask. Club business. Lockdown. She knew. Been through it a million times over the years. If she thought it would make a difference, she would protest, but at best it would get her more screaming from her dad, and at worst, a backhand. 

“You got a bag packed, doll?” asked Tig, and Maggie wearily looked up to see him at the foot of her bed.

“Always,” she said, her voice husky with sleep, pointing to her tiny but organized closet. 

Her dad left the room as he clicked and spun his Glock open, cursing loudly as he called for Gemma down the hallway.

When she heard his footsteps echo away, she let out an exhausted moan and fell back on her pillow. Tig turned around from rooting in her closet and made a sympathetic sound in her throat.

“Poor baby,” he said, a little absentmindedly. “It won’t always be like this, you know.”

She made an unladylike snort.

“Okay, well it will...but not as bad, okay? This lockdown will just be for tonight... maybe tomorrow.” 

He strapped her black backpack onto his broad back and looked down at her with his ice-blue eyes.

Suddenly she felt very sad. Things felt different lately. Hopeless. She never should have left USC. She never should have flaked on her classes and her damn scholarship all because of her stupid eating disorder and then the pills and all of it...and then she was crying, unexpectedly. 

“Aw, baby girl, no,” cooed Tig, his voice shocked and gentle. “You can stay in Happy’s dorm. He’s still out of town, and it’s all nice and clean and it will feel just like home.”

“It’s not that, Tig, it’s not that,” Maggie cried, hiccuping through her tears.

“What then?” asked Tig, sinking down beside her in the bed and rubbing her bare shoulders. She was only in a tank top and little sleep shorties, but she was past caring about that as far as the boys were concerned. Lately, she had practically lived at the clubhouse and she had given up on modesty, much to Clay’s chagrin. But then, it was hard to care about covering up when the sweetbutts were more than naked half the time. 

She didn’t answer Tig, instead sitting up and opting to just lean forward and bury her head in his lap. He murmured gently and stroked her long hair as it fell down her back, her chest trembling as she sobbed into his thighs. 

“The fuck?” She heard a Scottish brogue bark at her door. 

Her head flew up and she saw Chibs standing there, a frown on his face as he gazed at the pair. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, struggling to stand up as her legs twisted in her sheets. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” 

He took in her tear-stained face and took an uncertain step towards her. His bottom lip parted open slightly, as if he wanted to speak but didn’t know what to say. 

“She’s alright,” said Tig. “She’s just tired, is all.” 

Chibs shot him a glare, almost as if he blamed Tig for her tears or for her lack of speed in getting out the door.

Quickly Maggie spoke up, wiping tears off her face as she fumbled on the floor looking for her shoes. 

“He’s right, Chibs, it’s my fault, I’m just being a baby.”

Chibs made a small concerned sound at that as his face darkened, but suddenly Clay’s voice boomed out again. 

“Fucking come on!” He shouted.

“I’ll go tell him you’re coming, take your time, honey,” said Tig, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze as he strode out of the room and hollered after Clay. 

Maggie put her head in her hands and then turned to face the mirror, looking at her wild hair and tired eyes. She couldn’t believe Chibs was seeing her like this. 

But then he was behind her, his chest almost touching her back as he gripped her elbows and met her gaze in the mirror.

“Why the tears.” 

His voice was low and monotone. It was hard to make out what he was thinking, his expression was void of any telltale emotion as usual. 

Meanwhile, her blue eyes were dimmed with unshed tears. She shook her head.

“You can tell Tig, and not me?”

There it was again. Her eyes snapped open wider. That... jealousy? No, it couldn’t be. He must just be worried that she was going to harm the club in some way with her unpredictable behavior. 

She sighed a little. Of course, he would be worried about that.

“Tig just...I just...it’s hard to be home again, is all,” finished Maggie lamely. 

Chibs’ grip on the back of her elbows tightened. 

“You wan’ go back to university?” His accent was so thick she struggled to understand, the way it was when he was drunk or upset or...or whatever the fuck this was.

“They won’t have me,” she said, anger tightening her voice. “But I sure as hell don’t want to be here.” 

Suddenly he spun her around, pushing her back against her chest of drawers a little. 

His expression was angry and intense. Maggie felt fear building in her belly. That, and a flare of arousal, as he was now so close to her that his denim clad thigh was rubbing slightly against her crotch. Her cotton shorties were so thin she almost felt like his thigh was on her bare pussy. 

“I-I would never hurt the club, Chibs,” she said, faltering a little as she struggled to meet his gaze head-on. She resisted the urge to lay her hands on his chest, to force some space between them. 

His frown deepened. 

“The fuck tha’ mean?” 

“I meant...I know...you’re questioning my loyalty...my sanity, even...and worried if I would do something to hurt Samcro...or my dad.”

She was speaking so quietly he wouldn’t be able to hear if he wasn’t just inches away from her. She forced her chin up and looked into his eyes, trying to look as trustworthy and honest as possible. 

“Thar wha’ you think I think?”

He rolled his eyes in seeming disgust. She cringed a little, but he only pulled her closer in response. 

“I ain’t worried ya gonna fuck wit’ the club, lass,” he said sternly. “Know you’re loyal as a saint, hell I seen you get questioned by the cops and never break a sweat.”

“I’m my father’s daughter,” she said casually, trying to downplay the compliment. 

Chibs hissed a little at that. “No similarity that I can see,” he said. “Certainly no tenderness between the two of ye either.” 

He moved his arms from her elbows to her low back. Maggie raised her brows. She never heard Chibs speak ill of Clay, but she knew lots of the other guys wondered why Clay was so hard on her. They didn’t understand. 

But Maggie did. Maggie understood. She hated herself, why wouldn’t Clay? 

Maggie’s lower lip trembled a little. She wanted so badly to lean her head against Chibs chest and just bawl. 

He seemed to sense her shift in her energy, and let out a low exhale.

“It’s late, sweetheart,” he said finally. “Things will look better in the morning.” 

It was a unrealistic sentiment, but what else was there to say? 

“Can I ride with you to the clubhouse?” She asked daringly, not believing her ears. 

He looked down and frowned a bit. 

“I’m going to Stockton, lass,” he said. 

“Oh,” she said, her face falling. Diosa. Her hands fell to her sides. She suddenly felt very inadequate and very foolish. 

“I have to...gotta handle something with Jax,” he said, and his voice sounded almost regretful. 

“Tig can take me,” she said airily, trying to push around his large body to no avail.  
He stilled her further by gently clasping the back of her neck.

She looked up in surprise. He didn’t speak. 

“Save the tears till I get back,” he said finally, shaking his head in frustration.

“What?” She stuttered. 

“I’ll come find ye,” he said. “And ye cry in my lap then.” 

Her belly clenched with arousal. Her lips parted slightly. What was he saying? Her mind reeled with confusion. 

She nodded, her head tilting to the side as she tried to size him up and gauge his meaning.

"You sure you want a sogging wet Maggie in your lap?" she teased, then realized what she said, and almost gasped at her unintended sexual innuendo. 

He gave her a wry, amused smirk. 

"Aye," he said, then added a little remorsefully. "Aye.." 

Her eyes shot down to the carpet as she felt her pussy clench. 

"MAGGIE!!!!!" shouted Clay from downstairs, this time his rage making the windows on her bedroom wall shake.

She ran downstairs.


	3. alone, and then not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back on my bullshit
> 
> TW: Mentions of child abuse

It should have been an uneventful night, if not downright boring. Lockdowns always were. A clubhouse filled with wives and kids and even elderly relatives meant there was none of the usual debauchery, and even the sweetbutts went full Stepford under Gemma’s watchful eye.

Generally, Maggie would pass the time playing video games with Juice, the pair of them sitting on his bed, sharing a six-pack and passing back and forth a blunt. Eventually Juice would pass out, and Maggie would slip back to whatever dorm she was stuck with for the night (fortunately, Happy’s simple yet neat room, this time around). 

But this lockdown went a little differently. Clay ended up getting pulled over on his drive to the clubhouse, and after hours at the station, he returned in a blind rage. From what Maggie could gather, “that ATF bitch” was back in town and “shit was falling fuckin’ apart” for her father.

Hiding in Happy’s room, Maggie kept the lights off and stayed tucked under the covers as she listened to Clay’s roars and Gemma’s ineffectual interventions.

Though she felt ashamed leaving her mother to deal with Clay alone, she knew better than to go near him when he was in this type of mood. Her father was volatile at the best of times, but with the alcohol added in, he could easily become violent, and Maggie was generally his favorite punching bag. She wasn’t afraid of being hit (well, only a little, or maybe a lot) but she would have been humiliated to have the rest of the SAMCRO family see her take a beating, even though her occasional bruises had to suggest that the Morrow family was far from peaceful. No, better to let her mom handle it, she was the only one who knew how to diffuse Clay when he got like this, or so Maggie told her herself.

But she still chided herself under the covers and felt awash in self-hatred at her own cowardice. She knew Jax would never hide from Clay, that he would put himself between Gemma and his stepdad until the older man finally stood down. Tears wet her eyes and slid down her cheeks, and she shivered, wishing she had just stayed in Juice’s room, wishing she was curled against his warm, sleeping body instead of by herself, feeling like she was five years old and waiting for Clay to come in with the belt. 

The more she thought, the more she couldn’t stand to be alone. She knew Juice had to have heard the yelling, even though he was half-stoned. He would understand why she needed to stay with him till the storm blew over. Hell, if anyone was as scared of her dad as she was, it was probably Juice. She rationalized all this to herself, trying to make her behavior less pathetic in her own mind, until she couldn’t fight the urge to walk down the hallway to his room any longer. 

Sliding the door open gently, Maggie crept down the hallway noiselessly. It was a skill she learned early in the Morrow household, one that came to her aid even now during Clay’s outbursts. Maggie the Cat, Tig called her, teasing her for the delicate, silent way she would move in and out of rooms, appearing behind him in the garage when he least expected it. But underneath his teasing was a hint of restrained rage, and Maggie knew the icy-eyed man well enough to know that it was because he realized better than anyone why she was so scared to make a sound half the time. He was her dad’s right-hand man, but there were some things even Tig couldn’t stomach from his leader. 

So Maggie the Cat walked silent and sure-footed back to Juice’s room, cautiously peeking through his door so she didn’t startle the sleeping man. But when she did so, she didn’t find him under the covers as she expected, but all the lights on, and his bed empty. She pushed the door open further, and saw he was just exiting the en-suite bathroom, still wet from the shower, a towel loose around his hips.

“Ohhh,” she said, her lips parting in surprise, as she walked further in the room and saw Chibs and Tig standing inside as well. 

They all stared at her for a moment, no one speaking, until an unexpected shout from Clay inside the church caused her to jump unexpectedly and turn around to shut the door in alarm. 

The instinctive reaction instantly made her cheeks flush in shame. She turned back to face the men sheepishly, arms crossing against herself. 

“You alright, honey?” Tig asked worriedly, crossing the room and tugging her by the arm towards the bed. “Why you wandering at 4 a.m. instead of in bed?” 

She stumbled awkwardly over her words, suddenly embarrassed at her childish actions, especially with Chibs’s dark eyes narrowed on her, his large frame looming above her as Tig pulled her down on the side of the bed. 

“I wanted—I wanted—Juice—to, didn’t want to be alone—” 

She didn’t have time to gauge their reactions as she suddenly became alarmed to see Juice getting dressed out of the corner of her eye.

“Wait—wai—where are you going, though?” 

He pulled his head through a black t-shirt. 

“Gotta take care of something with Chibs and Tig,” he said, giving her a sorrowful shrug. “Club stuff. Sorry, Mag. You can still stay hang out in here though.” 

“Is my dad—Is Clay going to?” she asked, hopeful at the prospect, looking up at Chibs and directing the question to him. His face was expressionless. 

“No shape fer that, ain’t that clear, lass?” 

She cringed again at her stupidity. Of course. He couldn’t ride like this. So, they were off to fix whatever mess Samcro was in, and Clay was going to stay in the clubhouse and torment everyone till it was finished. 

She let out a low groan and put her head in her hands. 

She heard Juice snort a little at the dramatic sound, but Tig’s big warm hand suddenly found her bare shoulder. 

“Lay down here like he said,” Tig said comfortingly. “Ain’t half as clean as Happy’s but at least you know not much pussy runs through here.”

At that, Juice tossed his wet towel over at Tig’s direction, causing him to leap off the bed and grab Juice in a playful chokehold. 

“Is my brother coming back tonight?” she asked quietly, ignoring Tig and Juice and trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. 

Chibs’s expression softened a little. 

“Nae, no’ tonight,” he said. 

“I thought you were in Diosa,” she said, eyes flitting from his as she suddenly realized how jealous her tone sounded. 

“Had ta come back and get Juice and some…other t’ings,” he said, his eyes going cold on her again. “Stuff going ta hell fo’ us right now…lots of…y’know.” 

Here, he gestured with his hands helplessly. Some club secrets were too confidential even for Maggie. 

She nodded, tears welling up again, looking down before he could see, but just a second too late. 

“Aw, Christ,” he murmured huskily, then glanced over at Juice and Tig who were still roughhousing playfully. “Ay, fuck outta here wi’ that! Le’s go.” 

The two jostled the way out the door, Juice stopping to grab his kutte and give Maggie a crooked smile. 

“Don’t smoke all my pot, and don’t go messing up my score,” he faux-lectured her. 

She tried to smile back but gave up, instead pulling her legs off the ground and rolling onto the bed, her head on his pillow and her eyes shut tightly, as if she could make the world drop dead with nothing but her will.

She expected Chibs to follow them out, so she jumped when she felt the mattress sink beneath her back. She quirked her head over her shoulder, and saw him staring down at his hands, the expression on his profile distressed. She pushed herself up on her elbows to get a better view of his face. 

“Is it…going to be really bad?” she asked, her stomach twisting and her voice shaking. She hated this. She hated this so much. Never knowing who would get hurt. Who would come home. Who wouldn’t.

He looked up in surprise, then gave half a head shake. “Gonna be fine, lass. Ain’t nothing we canna handle.” 

“Then why do you look so…” 

He shot her a look of offended disbelief. 

“Ye really asking me t’at?” 

She sat up in earnest, crowding against him on the small bed, her bare legs rubbing against his rough demin jeans. She was close enough to see the muscle jumping in his jaw, barely controlled emotion brewing just beneath the silence. 

“Are you…are you mad at me?” She asked in confusion. 

He looked over at her abruptly. She stared at him helplessly, searching for a clue to his strange mood. He only confused her further by suddenly pushing her hair back off her face and loosely gripping her behind the neck. 

“Ye think I am mad at ye, love?” 

She blushed. 

“Said ye a good girl, didn’t I, lass? Just this morning, innit?” 

Her eyes widened and she nodded slowly. 

“Don’t like ye being scared,” he said finally, letting go of her neck and picking up one of her hands, then clasping his own around it, his hand on top of her thigh. She almost jumped at the intimacy of it. 

“Ye were looking for Juice?” 

She swallowed, trying to read his piercing expression. He couldn’t be jealous, could he? She opened her mouth to defend herself quickly, but he squeezed her hand, the action pressing his hand deeper into her inner thigh. 

“Din’t wanna be alone, ay,” he said, his words short but to the point. “Ye were—"

“Scared,” she finished for him, interrupting. And somehow she wasn’t embarrassed about that anymore, not with his hand so warm and strong in hers, not with his inscrutable eyes locked onto hers, seeing her, really seeing her, really seeing the suddenly-not-so-silent Maggie the Cat. 

“Ay,” he said, that darkness coming back to his face. “Ah'm sorry.” 

“For what?” she asked. 

“Sorry our sweet lass has ta be so scared of her da,” he said simply. 

Maggie looked down at their intertwined hands, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. Sweet lass? But…Our sweet lass, not his, she noted. As in, Samcro’s little idiot mascot. Jax’s kid sister. Clay’s thorn. 

“Sorry it was Juice here fo’ ye, na me.”

Her eyes pulled back upwards again. 

“Ge’ some sleep fa me, ay?” 

“When—when—” 

He rose from the bed, pulling back the covers and laying them on top of her legs. 

“Soon,” he said. “Before ye wake. All be over and Jax back and Tig and Juice—”

“And you,” she interrupted forcefully, reaching out to grip his hand, her eyes flitting across his face in muted terror. My god, what if he doesn’t, what if—

“Dinnae dae that!” he reprimanded, bending over to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Gawna take more than a coupla Nords to take me down.” 

Her eyes burned with unshed tears and sleeplessness, but she gave him a weak smile. 

“CHIBS!” came a shout from down the hallway, and he hissed in annoyance. 

“Go on,” she urged him gently, “I’m okay. I’m okay now.” 

He bent down, and for a second, she thought he was going to kiss her forehead again, but instead he gazed down at her and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. She stared at him wide-eyed. 

“Chibs!!!!!!!!”

He groaned, and moved his hand away, shutting off the light as he walked towards the door.

“Dream sweet, lass,” he said gently, and then the door closed behind him.


	4. another long night

It had been a week and a half since the night of the lockdown. All hell had broken loose in the days following, with some of the boys getting picked up after a shootout with the Nords on U.S. Route 101...Chibs Jax, and Juice included. 

As usual, Maggie pieced together information about the arrests from what she overheard at home and at the garage, although she secretly rankled at the fact no one thought she might have questions or concerns of her own. Tig, Bobby, Half-Sack, Clay and Happy (who had suddenly reappeared with a Redwood badge back on his kutte) spent hours in church or talking in heated, low tones in the parking lot, but Maggie may as well have been invisible to them. Even Tig barely paid any mind, only giving her the odd one-armed hug when she handed him coffee or asked after a customer’s car. 

The good news was that being ignored meant she wasn’t on Clay’s radar anymore. Even her mom didn’t notice when Maggie scraped most of her dinner in the trash, or went for hour-long runs twice a day. She was breaking promises to herself, to the people she cared about, self-destructing as usual. But that shame only made her more desperate, more out-of-control. She missed Juice. She missed her friend. And she was scared for him, knew he had a softness to him that made others target him, especially the kind of people in County.

Most of all, though, she missed Chibs. Missed seeing him. Being seen by him. Missed having someone look at her and not just see a problem to be fixed, not just see a kid sister to be tolerated or sheltered. 

“Boys getting out today,” Tig announced to her one late afternoon, shooting her a genuine smile for the first time in days. “Things getting back to normal around here.” 

“What about the charges? What about Juice, he was on probation and--” 

“Lawyer’ll work it out, he always does,” said Tig, off-handedly not noticing the tense, frightened expression on Maggie’s face. 

She stared at him, and felt a sudden flash of annoyance at the older man. He looked alert, content…as if the past week had energized him, which of course it had. He loved the bloodshed, the violence, the battle. He got to work out his demons and then come home and fuck a sweetbutt or three, forget it all and start again tomorrow. It wasn’t fair. Her demons lingered. Not everyone got to forget. 

“Yeah, no big deal,” she said sarcastically. “Just another fucking Tuesday, right?” 

Tig looked up at her in surprise. She never was sarcastic, especially not with him, who always treated her like his personal pet. 

“I mean, fuck it, right? Go out and fucking do what you do and leave everyone else at home worrying and not sleeping, not knowing what’s going on half the time or if you’re all going to be okay or if Juice is getting raped in prison or if he’s going to get shanked or if Chibs will or if my brother—”

Here she broke down and started sobbing, sinking down to the floor of the garage office, her back against the cabinet and her head collapsed onto her bent knees. 

She expected Tig to comfort her, to come up with some bullshit lie about how everything was going to be okay, to pull her into a hug, press her against his shirt, smelling of smoke and gasoline and sweat, but he didn’t. She cried herself out for a few minutes, then looked up to see him standing there, smoking and looking out the office window. 

She wiped her face with a shaking hand, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but the silence went on unbroken. 

“You mad at me?” she asked finally.

He snorted at that, and looked over his shoulder at her, ashing on the floor. 

“Always think everyone’s mad at ya,” he said, shaking his head. 

She looked at him helplessly, then asked, “Well, are you?”

He looked back out the window. She couldn’t see his face at all. She started to rise, but then he began talking. 

“You got real skinny again, doll,” he said. 

He was mad. She knew it. Her head went back in her hands. 

He sensed the motion and suddenly crossed the room, kneeling in front of her and pulling her body against him, his arms tight around her back. 

“Naw, not angry,” he said. “Not with you. With myself. Chibs is gonna kill me.” 

She looked up in surprise at that, hiccupping through her tears. 

“He asked me to look after you when he got pulled in,” he said. “I did a shit job of that, didn’t I? Just got so damn distracted, so damn…I…lost focus, lost focus on what really matters.” 

Maggie blushed at the thought of Chibs asking him to look after her, but she hated to see Tig beating himself up. 

“No, Tiggy, you had to protect the club, I know that,” she said. “I’m 22 years old, you know. I shouldn’t be babied anymore.” 

“Hell, I like to baby you,” he tsked, smiling down at her. “Makes me feel better when my own girls are so…so far from me.” 

His expression saddened again. 

“You’re a real good dad, Tig,” said Maggie, loyally. “Real good. I wish—you know what I wish.” 

Tig’s eyes widened a little. He knew what she meant. Knew she may have been crazy, but not crazy enough to want Clay as a father. 

“Things are gonna get better, honey,” he said finally. It was all he could say, Maggie knew that. He couldn’t go against Clay, couldn’t acknowledge all of what he wanted to acknowledge. “You just get strong again, start eating again. Get better so you can…” 

His words trailed off as the sound of bikes came crowding into the parking lot. 

“They’re back,” said Maggie quietly, and she leaned her head back against the cabinet and moved her lips in a silent prayer of thanks. She moved from Tig’s arms as she stood up, turning to walk back into the clubhouse. 

“Don’t you wanna go say hi?” he asked, surprised to see her heading away from the front. 

“Need to clean myself up a little,” she said, and he gave her a half-nod before jetting outside to join the embraces and shouts. 

Instead, she went to the bar and poured herself a shot of Jameson. It was gonna be another long night in Charming.


	5. wasna alone

Maggie slammed a second shot before she heard the guys’ shouts descending upon her, war whoops and laughter echoing closer and closer as they headed straight to the clubhouse bar. She quickly glanced at the mirror across from the pint puller, wiping under her eyes to make sure she had no mascara stains from her earlier tears. She was wearing her usual outfit...skin-tight jeans, combat boots, and a white lace camisole, several necklace chains tangled around her neck and tumbling down her cleavage. Her dark hair was loose in waves around her shoulders, in a somewhat vain attempt to hide the cut-glass edges of her cheekbones and clavicle from too many days of not eating. But all in all, she felt pleased with her reflection, and thanked god she had put some extra effort into her appearance this morning. 

Before she knew it, she was wrapped in a hug, a familiar voice saying, “Ho-lyyy shit, it’s good to be home.”

Maggie rolled her eyes and looked up at Jax. “Trust me, the allure wears off fast.”

Her stepbrother gave her a wry smile and reached across the bar to grab the bottle of Jameson from her.

As he poured himself a generous shot, Maggie glanced past him and saw Juice walking in, dark circles under his eyes but otherwise no worse for wear.

“Juice,” she said, and whether it was the Jameson or the excitement, she burst into tears for the second time that afternoon, only to be quickly gathered into Juice’s arms where she immediately hid her face inside the crook of his neck.

“Jesus, you smell good,” he murmured into her hair, rubbing his arms up and down her back. "And you look good too." 

She scoffed, but he was insistent, laughing, “For real, everyone in that place smells like garbage and ass. I laid up at night and wished you were underneath me in that bunk instead of damn Chibs.”

Here she started laughing through her tears too. He paused, and then said, "Wait, that came out wrong. You know what I meant." 

“I’m glad you had each other, though,” she said, her giggles stopping, as she pulled her head back so she could meet his eyes. “It kept me going, knowing that you weren’t alone.” 

“Just County, c’mon,” Juice said airily, but under the bravado, Maggie could see a hint of turmoil, his expression raw and haunted before he could duck his head down and go stoic again. 

Her stomach clenched. She hated what lockup did to him. What the club did to him. 

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek then strode off to wrap Bobby in a bro-hug, then Happy, who lifted him damn near off his feet. Clay appeared, a wide grin on his face, and he motioned for Half-Sack to start a round. He sat down on a stool and popped a stogie in his mouth, stopping to give Maggie an appraising glance for the first time in several days. 

“Fuck, you look like you lost weight again, Magpie. You back on that damn death diet?” he chortled. “Kinda shit is that for our boys to come home to?”

She flushed, and Jax shot his stepdad a glare, to which he put his hands up in faux-surrender. “Hey, I just worry about the gal, is all. Neighbors gonna think we ain't got money to feed our own.” 

Jax rolled his eyes and popped open a Budweiser. 

“I still think she’s gorgeous,” he said loyally, winking at her affectionately. “But you definitely need some of Bobby’s banana bread. And maybe a good night’s sleep.”

“I—I just…it’s hard when—I worry, y’know? And—

Suddenly Maggie’s voice trailed off as she became aware of someone behind her. She turned to see Chibs entering the room, a blank expression in his dark eyes, mouth slightly parted as it was whenever he was annoyed or stressed out. But, irritated or not, he was home. And Jesus Christ, how did he get more handsome in jail? A smile broke on her face like clouds parting, and she ran out from behind the bar to give him a hug. He returned the favor, bringing her close against his chest, letting his hands tangle in her hair as he grasped her tightly. 

“So happy you’re…here,” she finished, finding herself breathless and struggling for words. 

“Ay, lass,” he said in a monotone, not sounding half as excited or triumphant as she might expect. 

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before pulling out of the hug. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but why bother? He wouldn’t tell her, no one ever told her shit. 

“Thanks for looking after Juice,” she said finally.

His left eyebrow quirked a little. “He’s mah brotha.” 

“I—I know,” she said quickly. “Just…he can get forgotten. And…he…being alone, he’s kinda shit at that.” 

She glanced over at Juice by the bar as she spoke of him, finding him propped under Clay’s arm, a prideful smile on his face as the older man handed him a drink. She grinned a little in spite of herself. When she looked back at Chibs, she was surprised to find his face gripped with unreadable emotion, and then her wrist locked tightly in his locked fist. 

Her eyes widened. 

“He wasna alone, was wit’ him all the time,” said Chibs, wetting his lips for a moment before continuing on. “Who was wit’ you?” 

Maggie felt herself stop breathing under his intense gaze, his hand gripping her wrist so tightly she swore it would leave a mark, but not caring if it did. Hoping it did. Anything for proof this moment happened, this moment of him coming back, him asking after her. 

“No one,” she said softly. “What do you mean?” 

“Yer naught but skin and bones,” he said accusingly, his eyes flashing. “T’ought I told Tig to look to you while I was gawn.” 

She paled. “N—no—he did. He did. It’s just been…there was so much, and my dad was--”

She stopped and shook her head, not willing to continue and let any more tears fall today. 

“He was distracted, ay,” Chibs relented, loosening his grip on her wrist and moving to step away from her, glancing away at the rest of his brothers, who were all too busy rejoicing and swapping war stories to notice the tense conversation between the pair. 

“Chibs, wait, I —”

She paused and Chibs stepped back towards her, leaning in closer as if to better hear her quiet voice.

She felt warmth spread across her cheeks. She was speechless, she only knew she didn’t want him to walk away just yet. 

“You’re here,” she said finally, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her own lame remark. 

He smiled then, in earnest, for the first time since walking in the clubhouse. 

“Ah’m here,” he repeated, and then he reached out and stroked her bottom lip, as he had just nights earlier. 

“C’moNNN, Mags, Chibs, let’s get fuckin’ shitty!” shouted Juice from the bar, motioning over to the shots waiting for them at the empty stools next to him.

Chibs winked at her and pulled her along by the arm. “He cain’t be alone, eh?” 

She buried her face in his kutte as he tucked her under his arm, hiding a happy grin. The club could be a prison for her, for all of them, in more ways than one, but sometimes it meant you didn’t have to be alone. And that was worth toasting to.


	6. hardly a mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i apologize to the people of scotland

It didn’t take long for the day-drinking sesh to take on a life of its own. Before the sun even sank in earnest, the clubhouse and parking lot were packed with bikers, friends, friends of friends, friends of friends of friends, and all variety of scantily-clad women. Heavy metal blasted as people shouted to hear one another, and it seemed every few minutes, a new scuffle would break out. In terms of SAMCRO parties, it wasn’t unusual in its scope or ambiance, but there was a tension underneath the revelry that Maggie was sensitive enough to feel. 

She couldn’t put her finger on it, not exactly, but she had an eerie vibe that made her drink a little harder than usual. Somewhere during the course of the evening, she lost sight of Juice and most of the other guys, instead finding herself dealing with several mini-crises in the form of crying girlfriends in the bathroom or busted lips or broken glass in the ice well. 

Still, amidst the chaos, she managed to find plenty of time to down Jameson and she soon found herself struggling slightly to stand. Her chest and throat ached from the thick smoke indoors, and she decided she needed fresh air. But as she took a step down the corridor, a wave of dizziness suddenly overtook her. She barely had time to gasp before she felt herself rushing down to meet the floor—but then, strong arms pulled her back upright. She couldn’t get her vision to line up, everything was blurry and she closed her eyes, feeling a heaviness overtake her.

Then, a shaking sensation as she felt the fingers grip her tighter and a voice, no two voices, yelling at her.

“She canna even stand! How much has she had ta drink? MAGGIE! Open yer damn eyes!”

She recognized Chibs’s accent, and she willed her eyes to open, so she could see him, find him in the darkness, but it was so hard. Her legs could barely support her weight, and she leaned hard against the wall behind her. 

“Should I call Tara?” 

It was her brother’s voice. 

Maggie tried to shake her head, not wanting to bother Tara. The fear of disturbing her helped Maggie find a voice, and she let out a muffled “Noo.” 

“No? The fuck, Maggie? When’s the last time you ate anyway?” 

“Not---hung-hung-hung-a-ry,” she said, opening her eyes and focusing them on the halo of blonde hair hovering before her, but not seeing Chibs anywhere. A shadow filled her gut. He was here, I know he was here, she thought. 

“I don’t fucking care if you’re hungry or not, sis, I will fucking get a feeding tube if you fucking--

“Please,” she whimpered. 

“C’mon, Mags, I am desperate here,” said Jax, and his voice was tired, scared. She felt so sorry for him. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” he asked. 

“Chibs.” God, listen to how desperate I sound, she thought, but she was too drunk to care. 

“What about him?” Jax asked.

“Just want Chibs.” 

“He’s the one holding you up, dummy,” said Jax crossly, and she abruptly realized the wall she thought she was leaning against was actually Chibs. 

“Ohhh,” she said, turning her head to weakly look backwards, but finding the effort exhausting. She closed her eyes again. 

“What the fuck is going on with her?” demanded Jax. 

“T’aint hardly a mystery, Jax,” Chibs snapped in irritation. “She’s a wee thing whose gawn and drank enough whiskey for a grown man.” 

“JAX!” called Clay’s voice from outside. “Come out here a minute. Someone from Vegas I want you to meet.” 

Jax looked regretfully down at Maggie, but Chibs assured him. “G’wan, ah got her.” 

And suddenly she was no longer against the ‘wall’ but in the air, being carried. She would have panicked, but she knew was in his arms, recognized his scent. She felt immensely better, if not very tired and very cold. She shivered. Chibs’ grip seemed to tighten in response, and she snuggled deeper into his chest, closing her eyes against his kutte as he carried her through the party and towards the dorms. 

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself being set down on his bed. The room was sparse, cold, undecorated sans a Scotland flag hanging from the wall. Everything seemed to be carouseling around her. She saw him turning to walk away from the bed. She shut her eyes again. She wanted to ask him to stay, but she didn’t want him to miss out on the party because of her. Why did she have to go and get so stupidly drunk? She would sob if her head didn’t ache so badly.

Suddenly, a cold towel was laid on her forehead, a hand coming up to stroke her hair out of the way. She jumped and blinked her eyes open tiredly. 

“Jus’ me, sweethear’.” 

She smiled a little. 

“You didn’t go back to the party,” she said. 

It was hard to focus, but even so, she could make out the horrified look he gave her.

“Fuckin’ course not,” he said, then added with anger in his voice. “Cain’t believe I didna stop ya. Watching ye da whol’ time, ken ye was na strong enough for a party. Musta lost a whol’ stone since ah saw ye last.” 

“W-watching me?” she asked sleepily, wanting to reach out for him but scared to move an inch in case she fell off the bed. Her body started shaking. She was so cold. 

“Li’tle pinch,” he said, and she was confused again, but then she felt a prick and something cold in her veins. 

She looked down and saw him wrapping tape around a I.V. in her arm, her right hand being tightly held down under his thigh. 

“Fluids,” he said. “Should be in hosp’al but, ye gawn der in dis state…they mayn’t letting ye leav’.” 

She hid a gasp in her free hand, which then turned into a fist. “No more hospitals.” 

“Den cut this shite out, innit?!” he said, his voice breaking on the intensity of his words. “Ye can’t hurt yerself like dis! Fuck you t’inking about!” 

Tears came down her cheeks then. The mattress seemed to shake underneath her from her shivering. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Don’t be mad.” 

Chibs pulled her up then, reclining her against him in a bone-breaking hug. 

“Jaysis, I ain’t mad ‘t ye…fuckin’ feart is all.”

“What's that…you mean…scared?” she asked, struggling to make sense of his Scottish in her drunken state. 

“Ay, feart,” he said lowly, his chin resting on top of her head. 

“Welll, then I been feart ever since you got arrested,” she said, hands looping around his shirt as she attempted to draw into him even closer. “Fuckin’ feart, I mean.” 

He harrumphed at that, and she looked upwards and saw a small smile playing on his lips. But his eyes were sad, heavy with worry. 

“Ye did this because of me?” 

She shook her head defiantly. “No! No…I just…” 

“’T’was only County.” 

At that, she finally snapped, pulling back and slapping him suddenly on the chest. 

His mouth dropped open. 

“I AM SO SICK of everyone SAYING THAT! Fuck YOU ALL, seriously!” she said, nearly shouting as she threw herself back against the headboard, entirely out of his arms. 

“Th’ hell ye on about?” he hissed, grabbing her hand and trying to hold it steady. “Ye gawn rip out th’ I.V.!” 

“YOU! YOU! All of you! All you do is lie to me, or hide things from me, or placate me or—or—or just ignore me, and leave me alone to wonder what the fuck has happened this time—"

She ripped her hand back, and she was yelling now, or sobbing, or something in between, the words pouring out of her like a bursting volcano. She couldn’t stop herself, she continued on, not daring to look at Chibs, just yelling the words into her fisted hands, her shaking legs. 

“…and if you are safe or coming home or not coming home, all of you, or some of you, or none of you, and then you have the NERVE to act like I’m stupid or weak or selfish for being scared, but I’m not, or MAYBE I AM, but fuck me, I’m alone in this, I don’t have any girlfriends where I can say ‘Hey, I think the FBI is investigating my family,’ or ‘Hey, I think my best friend may get gang-raped in jail.’ Or what, like I can go to therapy and tell someone that? Hah! Or, or even talking to Mom or Dad or even Jax is hopeless, I have Juice, sure, but he’s scared too, and he’s scared of scaring me and…” 

Finally, she needed a breath, and she paused, daring only to look up at Chibs from underneath her lashes. He had his face in his hands, but he looked up at her when she stopped talking. 

“Lass, ye have more than just Juice, innit,” he said, gripping his hand around her thigh. “Ye got all of us.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know, I’m everyone’s kid sister. But guess what? Being a kid sister kinda sucks. No one tells you anything, you get ignored, you get left out, except the odd pat on the head. It’s not fair! If I was a boy, it would all be different.” 

His hand tightened around her thigh, and she found it hard to take in a deep breath. If he moved just a few inches upwards…

“A boy?” he asked, frowning a little.

“Yeah, if I was Clay’s son, not his daughter…I would be part of the club. Part of you all, and not just a mascot. Like for real. I would be included. Involved. Integral, even,” she said, a little breathlessly. 

“Ye ken how mental ye sound?” 

“Mental?” she repeated in an offended tone. 

“Ye,” he said, his eyes slanting as he glared at her. “Mental.” 

“You can’t deny what I just said isn’t true! You all shut me out because I’m a woman!” 

“We shut ye out, ye barmy lass, to protect ye so ye never have to go behind bars … or be targe’ed by our enemies fer what ye know…we protect ye so ye ain’t burdened or hardened by t’e awful shite we have to do sometimes, by t’e awful shite t’at’s done back ta us!” He growled, leaning forward to hold her tightly by the shoulders.

Her mouth dropped open. She had never seen Chibs lose his temper before, at least not with a woman, not with her. But he continued on.

“Ye think ye ain’t fuckin’ included, fuckin’ integral? Ye drive every single decision I make, done near gawn mad in lockup worrying after ye, worrying if ye eating enough or if Tig’s keeping ye safe from ye own da, or if ye…”

Here, he stopped talking, maybe because he noticed how tightly he was gripping her and how badly she was shaking, or how wide and wounded her eyes were as she gazed up at him. 

He let his hands fall down to her bare arms.

“But…why?” she breathed suddenly. “Why? What am I to you?”

A shadow clouded his expression. 

“What am I to you?” she asked again, bottom lip trembling as she awaited his answer. 

He gazed intently at her for a moment, watching her breaking open for him, the vulnerability and fear and hopefulness shining on her face. 

“Mo chridh,” he said huskily. 

“Mo chridh…” she repeated, slowly, uncertainly. 

His dark eyes met hers, the intensity sharpening his handsome features, as he translated, “My heart.” 

“Ohhh,” uttered Maggie.


	7. satan loves confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thanks to OG of the OC for the title ;)

For a moment, neither spoke. She stared at him, unblinking, no longer shivering, no longer shaking, simply as still as a deer in sudden headlights. 

"Look like ye just seen a spirit, lass,” Chibs said finally, confusion in his eyes, as he rubbed his hand on his goatee. “T’aint it been obvious how ah feel about ye, all this time?” 

She shook her head slowly, a slight frown on her face. 

“No,” she said quietly, playing with the blanket under her fingertips, trying to keep her voice steady, neutral. “You’ve always been kind…but, you’re kind to everyone…especially, especially women…and there have been lots and lots and LOTS of women.”

Here she looked up at him, a pout forming on her face against her will. 

He scoffed a little, a half-smile on his lips. “Ay,” and then added, “And that canna change. Won’ change. ” 

Her mouth dropped open. 

He put his hands over her hers quickly. “Love, ye know how ah feel now, ‘cause ah needed ye to understand…ta help ye see how wrong ye are about being alone. About being forgotten. But, Mags, tha’s where it has ta end.” 

She just blinked and stared again, finally echoing his last word. “End?” 

“Ay,” he said. “And tha’s why ah ain’t asking or wanting to hear no answer from ye. ‘Twould only make it harder fer me, and god knows, it’s been hell enough.” 

“But—but, why?” she managed to whisper. She couldn’t make sense of any of this. How can something end that never began? How could he hand her the moon and then just rip it away? 

He let out a long sigh.

“Is…is…it because of…me being…sick?” 

“Jaysis,” he groaned, gripping her hand tighter. “Jaysis, NO, Maggie, CHRIST. At least, not…not only t’at.” 

“I don’t understand, Chibs,” she said, and she started crying quietly, pulling away to hide her face in her hands.

He stood up and turned away from the bed, as if needing to put some distance between them. 

“Yer being sick…the hospi’als and rehabs, coming home from school, all t’at, sure, it matters ta me, matters cause it helps explain why a gorgeous young girl ever looks a’ me the way ah sometimes see ye looking a’ me. Helps remind me not ta take advantage, to remember yer hurting and not thinking straight all th’ time.” 

She let out a small offended gasp, but before she could defend herself, he interrupted. 

“But, tha’, Maggie, is only a portion of it, and ye know that as well as ah do, sick or no.” 

He turned to look at her then, and she wiped her face hurriedly. 

“You mean my dad?” she asked angrily. “What about him?” 

He scoffed. 

“He doesn’t care what I do, Chibs, as long as I stay out of his way,” she insisted, gripping her hands into fists. She couldn’t believe her dad was ruining this for her too. 

He shook his head. “Ye don’t know da’s. I have a daugh’er yer age, love, and if a older guy wit’ nothing to his name but a rap sheet and a lot of enemies came looking af’er her—” 

“So, you’re scared of him, then.” She said flatly. She knew she sounded like a bitch, taunting him, but she was furious now. 

Chibs strode back to the bed, and made her jump when he put either of his hands flat on the headboard beside her. He leaned down, his eyes black as she had ever seen them, and he bit out, “Le’s get this one t’ing straight, fer now and fer ever, little girl…I ain’t NEVER been scared of ano’her man, let alone a man like dat, a man weak enough to hit a sweet wee lass like yerself, an’, an’, an’…” 

Here he stopped, as if realizing suddenly how threating he must seem to her. 

He sank beside her remorsefully, and then gently took her face in his hands. “Ye t’ink I ain’t seen th’ brusies, t’at I ain’t wanted to kill yer da a t’ousand times?” he asked passionately. “Ye ken what stops me?” 

She let out a gentle, “no,” not wanting to shake her head, not wanting him to let go of her, no matter what. 

“Wha’ stops me is my own chile, God help me.” 

She frowned.

“Lass…there’s so much ye don’t know about the club, so much ah cain’t even…” His face clouded. “So much ah won’t ever tell ye. But, my wife, my daugh’er, ye need to realize, ye need to heed…they’re safe now because of Samcro, because of what Clay and Jax and th’ others did for me. Ah cain’t take that lightly, take this club lightly. Even now, there’s people now…there’s men that could kill my Kerry, kill her and worse. She’s safe in Ireland only with th’ club’s protection.” 

Maggie reached up and gripped Chibs’s wrists. His face looked so racked with fear and rage, and she felt helpless to stop it. 

“But, my brother,” she said finally. “He would never let my dad hurt your family.” She knew her dad was a spiteful, evil asshole, but Jax wouldn’t hurt an innocent girl, even if he wanted to kill Chibs for going after his little sister. 

Chibs sighed and released her jaw. “Clay ain’t run this club like a democracy for a long time, lass…Yer da…I wouldna ever feel safe angering him while my Kerry is so vulnerable. Not ta mention, Fi.” 

Maggie closed her eyes. 

“And, love, t’ats only a portion of it as well, if not th’ most crucial par’ of it ta me,” he continued. “What about Juicy?” 

Her eyes flew open. “Juice?” 

“Ay,” Chibs said somberly. “Boy is like a son ta me, and he’s already so…well, t’ings are rough for him, righ’ now, wi’ the club, wi’ everyt’ing.” 

Maggie paled a little and fairly leaped out of bed. “Why? What does that mean? What is wrong with Juice and the club?” 

She knew it, she knew it. All this time, something was growing, some tension, some brokenness in the clubhouse, in Juice. She felt it tonight, again, it never went away. A punishment coming for them all, a violent end to their violent ways. Starting with sweet, sensitive, too-gentle-for-this-world Juice.

“No, no, lass, no,” said Chibs quickly, reaching out to reassure and push her back against the pillows. “Lass, it’s alrigh’, he’s alrigh’, I jus’…dinna wanna break his damn hear’ righ’ now on top of everyt’ing else.” 

She shook her head. “Why would me and…you break his heart?” 

Chibs rolled his eyes. “C’mon, ye think I don’ see what goes on between ye?” 

“What goes on! What goes on? What goes on!?” she spluttered out defiantly. 

“Lis’en, lass, I didn’ wanna impinge yer virtue, and god knows, I canna hold it again’ ye as I have my blondes and all that, but…” 

She gasped, swatting him on the chest again. “What are you implying?” 

He looked at her with a mixture of irritation and arousal. “How many mornings ah seen ye stumbling outta his room? How many times ah seen ye drinking coffee in his t-shirt with nothing but panties on? As if ye wanted to rub mah face in it, in th' fact he was touching ye, pleasing ye, when ah could only look at ye?”

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. He thought…he thought…and it made him jealous? She shook her head and smiled. All this time she was so jealous of his sweetbutts, and he was working himself into a frenzy about her nonexistent sex life. 

“The fuck ye smiling fer, ye little vixen? Ye like knowing ye had me by th' short hairs?” 

She grinned wider. “Kinda. ‘Cause you fucking deserved it.” 

His eyebrows shot up. “Ah did?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were fucking anything and everything with 36 DD’s,” she said. “God, I wanted to kill some of those bitches. You think it’s bad seeing me in Juice’s shirt? Try being me, last fall, walking by and seeing you getting your dick sucked in the garage by that…that porn star.” 

Chibs’s cheeks reddened slightly. “Ye saw that?” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t change nothin’,” he said finally, sorrowfully. “Brothers arena allowed to share old ladies.” 

She laughed. “What are you not getting, Filip? Me and Juice never did that, never did ANYTHING. We fall asleep together playing video games, and yeah, I borrow his clothes but NOT because my own fell off on his floor the night before.” 

Chibs looked baffled. “Ye mean to tell me ye sleep next to that boy and he doesna…he doesna try and…he doesna—

“Not. His. Type.” She said, a little saucily. 

His left eyebrow cocked. “Lass, ye would be hard-pressed to find a red-blooded male who didn’t find ye ta be his type and then some.”

She blushed, then said, “Well, I’m not, okay? And we never did. And he doesn’t think of me that way, and even if he did, I don’t…I don’t, and I haven’t felt that way for anyone here, except, except for yo—

“Stop, Maggie,” said Chibs, getting up again. “Ye canna do that ta me, ah won’t let ye, ah canna bear it.” 

“Why? Why?” she asked, her voice breaking. 

“Ah won’t do this to ye. Ah won’t hurt ye,” he said, placing his hands on the dresser and keeping his back to her. “And nothing that would happen between us would be good fer ye, not in the end. Ye need a boy yer own age. Ye need to leave this town. Ye need to get away from yer da and all of us. Ah won’t. Ah won’t, ye hear me?” 

“What do you think you’re doing to me right now? You are hurting me! Telling me this…how can I just…how am I meant to just…” Maggie ran her hands through her hair forcefully. “I—I wish—I wish you never told me. I wish—I wish I never met you.” 

He froze as if she had struck him, then spoke quietly. “Aye. Aye. Let it out, lass. Ah deserve it.”

She leapt out of bed, and embraced him from behind, wrapping her hands around him, hands clasping in front of his kutte, her cheek resting on his back. 

“No, no, no, you don’t, no,” she said. 

“The I.V., careful, lass, ye gonna pull yourself apart,” he said, turning around cautiously and examining her hand. 

“I already am, Chibs, can’t you see that?” She begged, looking up at him. “You’re all I want. And you’re saying I can’t have it, can’t ever have it and—”

He let go of her hand and grabbed by the back of the neck, pulling her towards his mouth and then descending upon her with a forceful, passionate kiss that knocked the very breath out of her lungs. She collapsed fully into his arms, parting her mouth slightly while he stroked his tongue into her mouth boldly. She felt her entire body come to life, every cell awakened, as he kissed her hungrily. 

He pulled back and murmured, “Ye taste like cinnamon.” 

She grinned. “Fireball.” 

“That ye are,” he growled, and then he roughly lifted her up, forcing her legs around him as he spun around and sat her up on the dresser. She gasped, and he gave her a devilish grin, before pulling her into another head-spinning kiss, his hand holding her jaw and wrapping behind her ear. His grasp was tight, almost inescapable, not that she wanted to, but she felt the intensity, the desperation behind the kiss, as if it was the last time, not the first. 

She moaned, her hands exploring his chest and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. As he took a breath, gazing down at her shaking fingers, she looked at him hopefully, wanting to hear that he changed his mind, that this kiss meant it was okay, that it would all be okay. But he only looked more conflicted. 

She reached down to palm his big, hard dick through his denim, and she bit down on her lower lip when she felt the size of it. “No one has to know,” she murmured, looking up at him dreamily. 

But that black, empty look was back in his eyes, and he suddenly punched the mirror behind her, making the dresser shake. 

Before she could say a word, he had turned and stormed out of the room, leaving her still on the dresser, an I.V in her hand, and nothing but a Scottish flag staring back at her.


End file.
